"She has gone to talk to her sister. You cannot expect her to give up all her time to you."
"But indeed that is just what I do. What can she have in common with that tiresome, frowzy old Frosty?"
"Only she happens to be her sister, and that tiresome, frowzy old Frosty, as you call her, has looked after her since she was a little child, when her mother died."
"Oh, yes, I've heard all that story. I suppose it's very noble; but, all the same, little Agnes is fonder of me."
"You have no right to steal her heart from Miss Frost."
"Rosamund, I don't know what to make of you. You always have a great influence over me; but what is the matter now? Do you want to take Agnes away from me? If you wish to, you may; but I shall follow, for I don't intend to give her up, and nobody living will make me. I am sure you can do what you like with that detestable Hugh, and Frosty can go for her holidays. It would be a very good idea. Agnes and I would be quite happy at The Follies, with dear mother, of course, to take care of us."
Just at that moment there came a whoop and a spring, and Hughie, his red face redder than ever, his freckles more marked, his carroty hair sticking up all over his head, and his light-blue eyes wearing a most mischievous expression, entered the little arbor and sat down at one side of Irene.
"I say," he remarked, "I want to ask you a direct question."
"What is that?" she said, moving slightly away from him.
He edged a little nearer.